“Well, that’s not going to happen for at least another hour,” Wren remarks.
“Okay, everyone,” Pete announces, peering out of the window. “Look for parking.”
We scout the immediate area, but Twilight doesn’t have a parking lot and all the spots on the street are already taken.
“I’m going to try a couple blocks down,” Jamieson says.
“Just find a parking garage, babe,” Pete tells him. “I don’t want to have to walk far.”
Fifteen minutes later, the SUV is parked and we’re standing in line. I took extra care with my appearance, styling my hair in loose curls, applying a little makeup, and then donning a short backless dress. The brown satin material is beautiful against my skin tone. It was an impulse buy, but I’m happy with the purchase. The split going up my right thigh makes me feel especially naughty. A pair of sparkly black stilettos completes the racy ensemble.
“About damn time,” Carla gripes when the line begins moving quickly.
“You look stunning, Sweet Peach.”
I whip around at the rumbled compliment and find Emmett standing directly behind us. How the heck did we not see him? Why is he just making his presence known? I have an inkling he was observing me, plotting his next move. He exchanges greetings with everyone but his eyes stay trained on me, particularly my plunging neckline. I stand there with my mouth hanging wide open. I’m flabbergasted that this man followed me for ninety whole minutes. I hate that he’s so goddamn mouthwatering. A black, long-sleeve button-up shirt clings to ripped arms and torso and dark gray chinos encase long, powerfully built legs. I’m actually jealous of his clothes. How fucking pathetic is that?
“He’s eyeballing you like you’re a medium rare steak with all the fixings,” Wren whispers for my ears only.
A mischievous smile curves Carla’s lips. “Eve was just telling us how much she wants to jump your bones.”
Pete clasps a hand over his mouth, hiding his chuckle while Jamieson’s gaze darts between us with avid curiosity.
“Carla!” I shout, causing a few people to glance my way. “That’s not true and you damn well know it.” Sometimes I just want to throttle her.
“She can jump my bones whenever she wants,” Emmett rasps softly.
“I have zero interest injumping your bones,” I snap, clamping my hands on my hips. “I mean it and don’t you dare follow me around once we’re inside. What you and your cousins are doing is considered stalking. I swear, I’ll file a restraining order if it doesn’t stop.”
I turn back around, my spine straight and my head held high. I’m done allowing these men to take over my life.
“Save all your dances for me,” Emmett demands in a deep baritone, ignoring everything I just said.
I stiffen, but don’t offer a response. I’m determined to pretend he doesn’t exist. Once inside, I’ll be sure not to venture off alone so he doesn’t catch me by surprise. I made that grave error with Shepard.
“Ooh, he’s going to get you,” Carla teases.
“You are an absolute ass,” I deadpan, rolling my eyes at her.
She grins. “I’m good at it, though.”
I feel Emmett’s blistering gaze burning a hole in my back. I try to act indifferent to his presence, but my sweaty palms and racing heart contradicts my facade. We finally make it into the building a short time later. I glance over my shoulder, but my stalker has seemingly disappeared into thin air.
“Where are you?” I mumble under my breath.
“Look for your boyfriend later,” Carla yells back at me. “Let’s grab some drinks.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I hiss at her.
“I need to use the bathroom,” Wren informs us. “I’ll meet y’all at the bar.”
We veer right, skirting the dance floor towards the bar. The club is jam-packed. Laser lights wash the two-level structure in a kaleidoscope of bright colors. The DJ plays the latest hits in the far left-hand corner. The music isn’t blaringly loud, allowing for conversation. Roped-off sections for VIP guests line the adjacent wall.
Pete squeezes into an open spot at the crowded bar and orders tequila shots for everyone. We’re a few shots in when Wren finds us. He gifts her with two full glasses which she gulps down in quick succession.
“Next round’s on me,” Carla announces.
“No more for me,” I decline, already feeling a little buzz. “You know I’m a lightweight.”
